


.real.

by zeraparker



Series: .all.too.briefly. universe [4]
Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: He wants to make it real, now.[[Roughly 18 months down the line, Andre is ready for a big step. // Follow-up to .all.too.briefly.; can be read as a stand-alone]]





	.real.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_decade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/gifts).



> So, after today's race, it's either curl up sobbing, or write the most tooth-achingly sweet fluff I can think of, put into my head by lost_decade. Thank you so much for all the hours of idea sharing. <3

Andre stands in the door leading out to the patio, taking in the view of the garden bathed in near darkness. The lamps beneath the surface of the pool are switched on, making it shine like a crystal, throwing patterns over Charly sitting at the pool side, trying to teach Max to roll over on command, the dog getting distracted by the suggestions James shouts at them from where he’s standing by the fire they’ve lit earlier, poking at the embers with a stick. Helmut is sitting on one of the couches halfway down where Andre left him to get a refill for their wine glasses from the kitchen. His own shadow is painted onto the sandstone paving, starkly outlined by the light switched on inside the house behind himself. Jev and Tess have taken over the kitchen, laughing as they share washing the dishes. Lorene is watching them from her chair in the kitchen where she’s put up her feet on a second chair, commenting on their household skills, her body heavy with the late stages of her pregnancy.

It’s the third summer he’s living in Gordes now, and it finally feels like a home. He can’t really tell when it stopped feeling like one of the many hotel rooms he frequented; his belongings arriving from Japan are strewn all over the clean surfaces the interior decorator picked out, some of the tasteful paintings and prints she chose replaced by more mundane photos, a signed poster from his last Lemans race framed on the wall over the dining table, the bright colours at odds with the muted colours of the furniture. Max has chewed his way along one edge of the big sofa, unnoticed by Andre until it was too late to hide the damage. Stray clothes don’t always make it into the hamper by the sink in his bedroom. Somehow, all the little imperfections make it only more perfect though.

The ice cubes in the glasses he’s carrying in one hand clink as they melt, watering down the light summer wine they’ve been drinking all evening, not even to really get drunk, the heat from the day still lingering and only telling of more bright, hot days to follow, threatening whoever overindulges with painful hangovers and headaches. He lifts one of the glasses to take a sip, feeling the cold ice against his lips before he balances both glasses in his left hand again, his right returning to the pocket of his shorts like they did all day, all week really, feeling out the shape of body-warm metal, caressing over them with the pad of his finger.

Andre had picked out the rings the last time he’d been in Monaco, the clean design catching his eye as he’d walked past the shop window, the dark grey metal speaking to him, the little shine to the edges roughened by the wider brushed band in the middle. James had picked up his order for him and brought it along, his eyebrows raised but without comment as he’d sneaked Andre the little box when he and Tess had arrived earlier in the week. Andre had ducked his eyes, suddenly feeling exposed in a way he hadn’t in front of his friend. Alone in his office later, he had taken the rings from the box, hidden the box in a drawer, and put the rings in his pocket. Just feeling the weight of them, the shape every time Andre had put his hand in his pocket, made everything they’d gone through in the past months real, tangible in a way he doesn’t have words for.

He wants to make it real, now.

He’s been waiting for the right moment to come up; in his mind he’d pictured them gathered around the dinner table, all of them, declarations of love, the squeal of the girls. But that isn’t him, the rom com style of publicly prostrating himself no matter how deeply he feels the love within him every time Helmut touches him, every time their eyes meet, their hands brush against each other in public. He doesn’t think Helmut would want that either. Helmut’s sudden declaration earlier that year, in the wake of Jean-Eric and Lorene’s wedding, _I think I want to marry you_ startling them both, Helmut standing with the plates still clutched in his hand where he was setting the dinner table, Andre splashing a bit of pasta sauce out of the pan as he’d dropped the wooden spoon with a clatter. _One day_ , Helmut had added a heartbeat later, _maybe_. Andre had never seen him flustered before, not like that, the shock on his own face probably clearly visible, the panicked chuckle Andre couldn’t suppress. Dinner had been awkward afterwards, both of them hanging after their own thoughts, the heavy air between them only lifting slowly over the next days when neither of them brought it up again.

Andre tightens his hand around the rings in his pocket, feeling the metal dig into his palm. There’s no question for him anymore, only the slight pang of regret about the way he’d reacted back then, about the hurt he’d caused. He wants to put all that behind them, no more doubts about where they stand.

James catches his eyes as Andre pushes away from the door, walking down into the garden. He hopes the darkness hides the heat he can feel rising to his cheeks, but James gives him that surprised look again, eyebrows quirking in question, and Andre turns away, eyes fixed on the steps he takes down to reach the couch Helmut is sitting on, gazing lazily into the garden.

“Here,” Andre says, offering Helmut the wine. Helmut takes it with quiet thanks, his arm settling naturally around Andre when he slips onto the couch next to him, curling close, tugging his long legs onto the cushion. They fit well together like this, Andre thinks as he shifts to dig his fingers into his pocket, hiding the rings in the flat of his palm as he withdraws them. He leans his head against Helmut’s shoulder, sighing as Helmut plays his fingers through Andre’s hair, lazy with fatigue from the long summer days.

There is no perfect moment, but this feels bloody damn close.

“Yes,” Andre says, his voice an exhale. He can hear Helmut hum in reply, having taken his exclamation as gratitude for how Helmut is petting him. Andre shifts a little further, making Helmut set down his wine glass on the wide armrest of the couch so that he can take his hand, linking their fingers together.

“Yes,” Andre repeats, looking down at their entwined hands. He can feel Helmut’s confusion in the slight tension of his body. “I should have said yes right away, it’s the only answer I ever wanted to give.” He isn’t good with words, despite all the talking they’ve done, despite all the communicating and compromising they had to do to get where they are now. Words don’t come easily to him, so he just lifts his other hand, palm up to show Helmut the two rings he’s holding.

Helmut tightens his arm around him convulsively, the small tension intensifying as he stares down at Andre’s hand, not meeting his eyes as he unwinds their fingers, reaching out to touch the rings as if to confirm that they’re actually there. Andre swallows heavily around the sudden lump in his throat, trying not to twitch. He leans closer against Helmut’s side, pushing his head against the crook of his neck, fighting the urge to close his fingers around the rings protectively, the familiar urge to get up and flee rather than to stand up to all the tumultuous feelings that are making his nerves sing barely overcome.

“Say something,” he prompts after the silence has stretched between them. He bites his lower lip, worries it between his teeth.

Helmut takes a hold of Andre’s hand, the rings pressed securely between their palms. His eyes are a little glassy as he uses the arm wrapped around Andre’s shoulder to pull him into a deep, lingering kiss that is so full of love that Andre wants to shy away from it, wants to drown in it at the same time. “I love you,” Helmut says in between kisses, and then draws Andre closer, pulling him into his lap to wrap both arms around him and hold him close.

Resting their foreheads against each other, Andre pulls on Helmut’s arm until he can take his hand, carefully picking up one of the rings that are so similar in size, for a moment unsure whether he’s picked up the one that will fit Helmut, gently smoothing it onto his finger. “Do you like it? We can always buy different ones if you’d prefer-“ he says, hates how insecurity makes his voice shake, grateful when Helmut shuts him up with another kiss.

“They’re perfect,” Helmut answers and takes Andre’s ring before Andre can slip it onto his own finger. He rolls it between thumb and forefinger, then tenderly holds Andre’s hand. “You’re shaking,” he observes, lifting Andre’s hand to his lips to kiss it before he slips the ring onto his finger.

“That’s what you do to me,” Andre admits. He clasps his hand with the ring with Helmut’s between their bodies, buries his head against Helmut’s shoulder. Helmut’s free hand rubs up and down his back possessively. They hold each other close, touching, kissing, lost in their own little world for a moment.

The pitter-patter of small feet on the sandstones followed by Max bounding up the steps towards the house draw them out of their reverie. Andre turns his head, watching as Charly reaches the patio and disappears through the door squealing something indistinctive from so far away, almost run over by Max on her heels.

“Did they know you planned this?” Helmut asks, his lips brushing over Andre’s ear.

“No,” Andre says quietly, not really prepared to let go of Helmut just yet. “Well, James picked up the rings in Monaco for me,” he admits, feeling Helmut laugh and then sits up and looks in the direction Helmut points out. James has just stepped out of the door leading to the kitchen of the pool house, a wide, hopeful smile on his lips as he lifts a magnum bottle of champagne with one hand. Andre can’t help laughing too, suddenly giddy now that the tension he’s carried around with himself over the past days is falling off. “Oh he’s going to be insufferable.” He hides his face against Helmut’s neck again, breathing him in, but can’t help smiling, knows that Helmut can feel it where his lips are pressed against his skin.

“You guys,” James exclaims as he walks up to them, drawing the syllables out into a squeal. He drops the bottle of champagne onto the couch and wraps his long arms around both of them, pressing close against Andre’s back in a tight hug. “You guys!” He presses a kiss to the back of Andre’s head. “Congratulations,” he whispers before he straightens, rubbing at his eyes.

“Are you crying, Rossiter?” Andre asks incredulously as he twists around to get a better look.

“Nah man, just got something in my eyes,” James answers easily, but the smile with which he looks at them is entirely too tender, his eyes a little watery. It makes that lump return to Andre’s throat and he gets up from Helmut’s lap, pulls James into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you, bro.” Andre pulls back, kissing James’ temple, then ruffles his hair before James takes a step back, getting out of reach. He leans down, giving Helmut a hug too. “You take good care of him,” he says, just loud enough for Andre to hear as well, and he feels himself blush as he locks eyes with Helmut over James’ shoulder, his friend’s protectiveness setting off a tender ache inside him when he hears Helmut’s murmured affirmation.

“Alright,” James says as he pulls himself together and then grabs the bottle of champagne from the couch and lifts it over his head like he was standing on a podium. “Champagne!” he exclaims and then starts up the steps to the house where Tess is curiously looking out through the open door.

Andre holds out his hand. “Ready to face the fans?” he asks with amusement, his smile softening when he sees the light glint off the ring on Helmut’s hand as he takes Andre’s, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He feels giddy again, not having expected the impact the open display of belonging such a small piece of jewellery could cause. They keep holding hands as they walk up the steps to the house, hearing the cork pop from the bottle and the splatter of champagne on the floor inside, Tess and Lorene both chastening James as they walk through the door into the open kitchen. James is filling the champagne flutes someone placed on the counter, trying not to step on Max who’s between his feet, lapping up the spill from the floor. Andre stops to watch them, feeling Helmut slide his arms around his waist. He leans back against his strong body, his hands on Helmut’s where they’re resting over his stomach. It’s Lorene that spots the matching rings first, pointing at them with a shriek, and then there’s more hugs, champagne flutes clinking together as they toast.

 

 

Andre thinks of all that in the early hours of the next morning, wallowing on the brink of sleep. The curtains are billowing in front of the windows in the early morning breeze, carrying in the soft sound of Jean-Eric and Charly’s voices and Max’s happy barking, probably taking the dog on his morning walk, awake before everyone else. He blinks his eyes open into the pale, bright light that promises another hot day, not a cloud in the sky behind the soft gauzy curtains. The air is already warm, the body heat coming from Helmut’s skin where he is wrapped around Andre, chest to back and with their legs entwined, almost too much. They’ve kicked away the sheets some time during the night.

Andre moves slowly, turning onto his back in the circle of Helmut’s arms, careful not to wake him, having learned by now how much he can move without startling the other awake. Helmut makes a soft noise as his head settles into the curve of Andre’s shoulder, his hand twitching where it comes to rest on Andre’s chest, a warm, heavy weight. Andre kisses the top of his head, caresses his neck gently as he looks at them both, the way they’re curled into each other. The dark metal of the ring is a stark contrast to his sun-kissed skin, much starker than the softer marks Andre has left on him, that show that they belong together, the bite marks and bruises scattered over Helmut’s skin, over his own, where they’re usually covered by t shirts and shorts.

The rings won’t be covered, and he knows they won’t take them off. He doesn’t know how long it will take for the media to pick up on it; he’s done with Lemans, the years without a real shot at the title taking away the want to continue. They’ve talked it through, Bruno, Neel and him, decided to make way for someone else to take over. Neel had looked at him knowingly, training with Helmut himself, knowing what was going on between Helmut and Andre. He’s done with Formula E too, at least the racing side of it. He hadn’t renewed his contracted the year before, despite Jev’s pushing, had agreed to take over a share of the team instead. It is kinda their baby, he has to admit, he doesn’t want to put his back on it, but he’d always been old coming into the series, and as much as he’d enjoyed the three years racing, it hadn’t given him the results he’d craved. There are new offers; some GT teams have already knocked on his door, there are still his connections to Audi and Porsche he never let go cold. Classic cars have grabbed his eyes, the kind he’d already raced for show at Goodwood Revival. Still, Andre is done, and he isn’t big news anymore, not one to make the headlines. There won’t be need for a big announcement, definitely not until someone picked up on the ring on his finger, making a news snippet out of it; next month, next year, he can’t tell. He doesn’t know what the backlash will be, but he knows how Danny has been treated since his coming out. Maybe he’ll give him a call. It’s got its own kind of adrenaline fuelled thrill to it in a way he doesn’t yet know how to feel about.

For now though, none of that matters. He’ll call his mum, tell her he’s finally stopped being a coward; he’ll take a picture, send it to his friends in Japan, to Neel and Benoit, some more of their friends. He’ll have breakfast with the others, maybe open another bottle of champagne, will keep touching Helmut’s hand every time he wants to, just to remind himself that this is real.

Andre does that now, reaching out to touch his fingers to Helmut’s hand, trace over the band of metal and over the length of his finger before he entwines them, holding on. It’s the best feeling in the world.


End file.
